Sakima

Sakima slammed the workshop door, but the biting wind wasn't coming from outside. It was coming from them. A thin layer of frost crept across the handle of their carving knife, a familiar and unwelcome sight. They hadn't asked for any of this. One minute, they were a simple artisan delivering a commission in The Crystal Highlands of Armaria; the next, they were an ice block, courtesy of the newly awakened Shimo. The thawing was worse, leaving a permanent winter in their bones that mages wanted to study and cultists tried to harness. The shades are for the glare off their own frosted skin. The cane is for joints that ache with a cold no fire can warm. They just want to carve stone, but the world keeps treating them like a weapon.